


Darling, Dear and Sweetheart

by shiverfawkes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pet Names, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiverfawkes/pseuds/shiverfawkes
Summary: John hadn’t that in a relationship with Sherlock, there’d be any rhyme nor reason for pet-names.As it turned out, with most things like Sherlock loved to remind him, he was wrong.





	Darling, Dear and Sweetheart

John hadn’t that in a relationship with Sherlock, there’d be any rhyme nor reason for pet-names.

As it turned out, with most things like Sherlock loved to remind him, he was wrong.

The first time Sherlock called him _dear_ , he nearly choked.

They’d been dating for about a week at that point. Nothing much had changed, other than the whereabouts of Johns sleeping.

John was leaning against the kitchen table, paper resting on it. He was turning the pages with one hand and cradling a much-needed mug of tea in the other. They’d finished up a case the night before, and much to his displeasure he’d had to see yet another person shot dead, uncomfortably close to him.

Sherlock, surprisingly, was still asleep. John thought it best to leave him be for a bit longer, considering he hadn't crawled in beside John until the wee hours of the morning.

He rose earlier than the doctor had imagined, though he wasn’t opposed to it when Sherlock walked out of their bedroom half naked and dazed. He smushed his face against John’s hair, wrapping his arms around him lazily, with a satisfied hum and pressed a kiss to his head.

“Morning?” It came out as more of a question, because he was quite confused, pleased, but confused. Sherlock was warm his bare chest was warm against John’s back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“Make me a cup of tea, will you, dear? I have to take a quick shower.” His voice was deep and full of sleep, it practically vibrated through John.

That was the wrong moment to take a sip of tea. He spluttered for a moment, before setting his mug down, face red.

“’Course, erm, enjoy your shower.”

“Will do.”

The coy smirk on the detective’s face showed John he knew exactly what he was doing, and John groaned, flipping the kettle on.

The second time, they were out on a case, and Lestrade poked fun at him for a week afterwards. Though he was nice enough to keep it from the rest of the team.

He’d examined the body, made the analysis, and stood back to watch Sherlock do his work. Sherlock had handed him his coat as he frenzied around the room, bouncing off the walls as he deduced the room and how it happened.

Then something clicked and the wave of motion stopped still.

“Hold on.” He froze, back still turned to both John and Lestrade who were watching him in amusement. “Darling, my magnifying glass, its in my coat.”

John burned red, as Lestrade looked at him with a look of disbelief and excitement on his face. The doctor pulled the satchel of tools from Sherlock’s coat, and handed it to the detective.

“Darling, huh? How long?” Lestrade muttered whilst Sherlock went about his business.

“A month.” John muttered, his face burning to his ears, and failing miserably to contain the smile on his face.

“The ex-girlfriend did it, if this is female ejaculate, have them run it. Text me the details.” Sherlock declared handing Lestrade an evidence bag with a square of the carpet he’d cut from the floor. The DI wrinkled his nose at the thought the contents suggested. Sherlock took his coat from John, and threw it over his shoulders, shrugging it on. “Come on, dear. Places to go, people to ignore.” He grabbed John by the hand and then they were off.

The third time, it wasn’t Sherlock saying the names, it was John.

He didn’t expect it, nobody did, not even Sherlock.

“SHERLOCK!”

But quicker than it probably should have been, Sherlock was on the ground, the blood stain in his shirt spreading as the wound flowed.

He’d been knocked out from the fall to the floor, and John stared for a moment before he clicked back into reality and realised what he needed to do.

Checking the detective’s pulse first, to his relief his heart was still beating, and steadily. John grabbed him by the shoulders and propped him up against a wall. He pulled Sherlock’s scarf from his neck, and opened Sherlock’s blazer. He could’ve blanched at the side of the blood staining the shirt, not because of what it was, but because of who it was inflicted on.

He tied the scarf as tight as he could around Sherlock’s waist, and pressed his hand against the wound, dialling 999 into his phone.

“I need an ambulance, I’m on Bellenden road, outside Harris Academy. My friend’s been stabbed, please, quickly!” He begged the unexpecting emergency line recipient, before hanging up and taking a breath, trying his best to clear his brain enough to assess the scene in front of him. 

He needed to get Sherlock out of this alley, so he summoned what strength he did have, and hoisted Sherlock up, using the detective’s own arm as leverage. 

“Come on Sherlock, you’re going to be fine.” He muttered, unsure of whether he was trying to reassure himself or the unconscious detective.

Lestrade showed up before the ambulance did, he sprinted over the moment he saw John sitting at the kerb, hand still pressed against Sherlock’s stomach, praying for the wound to let up and the blood to clot. The sight of Sherlock’s blood on his hand was something from his own nightmares, he could cry, but he was a soldier and a doctor, and his only objective now, was to keep him alive.

“John! What happened?” Greg asked, kneeling down as the rest of his team crowded round. “Oh Christ.”

“He got stabbed, ambulance is on its way. Stupid bastard dropped the weapon though, he’ll a field day with that. In the alley.”

Almost as if on cue, Sherlock began to stir. “John…” He wheezed. “John it hurts- I- I can’t-“

John swallowed, keeping one hand on the wound, using his other to push the curls out of Sherlock’s eyes. “No, no you stupid git, stay with me, love. You’re doing so well sweetheart; don’t you dare leave me now.”

“It’s warm John- I can’t feel anything there- he stabbed me.“

In any other situation John would’ve made a jab about Sherlock stating the obvious but considering most stab victims usually register it as a punch first, maybe it was a deduction. “I know it hurts love, but you have to stay with me. The ambulance is coming, you’re gonna be fine.” He didn’t know if it hurt, he’d been shot not stabbed, but right now all he could think about was where the hell the ambulance was.

“I don’t want to die.” Sherlock’s voice broke and suddenly the genius fell away, the grandiose melted off of him, leaving only a man. Leaving only Sherlock, scared, vulnerable. Lestrade got up and went toward the rest of his team out of respect.

“You’re not going to.” John replied, cupping Sherlock’s face with his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the detective’s cheek, damp with the tears that had fallen.

“Promise me.”

Somehow John managed a smile. “I thought you didn’t believe in promises.”

“Just promise me John.” Sherlock raised his own hand to his cheek, gripping John’s hand in his, he squeezed something in rhythm, something in Morse, but right now John was just staring at the man on the ground in front of him, trying to keep him alive, he’d work out what the message was later.

The siren of the ambulance drew closer, and louder, and John’s grip on Sherlock’s hand tightened. “I promise, darling, you’re going to be alright. You’re brilliant, you’re fantastic, you’re a bloody conductor of light! You can’t leave me now, sweetheart.”

John didn’t go in the ambulance with him. He wanted to, but he didn’t. because he knew he’d be insufferable having to watch the medics look after him, anything done even a faction off how he would have done it.

Lestrade placed a hand on his shoulder, and he snapped back into reality, realising that the ambulance was long gone, and he’d been staring down an empty road whilst the rest of Lestrade’s team surveyed the crime scene. “He’ll be fine, mate.”

“I know, he always is. It was serious though Greg. If he was in his mind he'd have said some shit about the white shirt being dramatic, or the fact I used his scarf. But he didn't say a word. He was scared.”

"That's a first." 

"He's full of surprises."

Lestrade laughed, nodding in agreement. “Though on the downside, I don’t think anybody here doesn’t know you’re dating.”

“Anderson won’t. I don’t think he realises people _can_ be gay.” John laughed, shaking his head as he glanced at the DI.

“Ah.”


End file.
